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Dreamers break my heart. I’ve been reading too many tales, and studying too many stories, lately. Somehow, I have survived to tell a tale or two.

Chit Chats and PopWorld are too full of tales of fame and money and flash. The best and truest hearts in my whole life whispered to me at 3am. They may have been a star for a moment, like my sweet sad Syd Barrett, or they may have been a hustler on Polk Street in SF or a stoner on Eastern Avenue in Bmore, or a kid from London with a few heart-rending songs. They may have murmured in their sleep or shouted a dream from a rooftop.

We laughed until dawn on Tequila or Shrooms or Acid, we freaked out together, we smoked and giggled, we sat in dark rooms full of incense and listened to Pink Floyd and George Harrison…we divised plots to save the world, we cried at weird movies, we fought, we hated each other, we slept together, we imagined unimaginable beauty……

We reach out even now through all the fog of our daze passed…..

When I watch American media, I wonder…..does anybody out here even have a CLUE as to who awaits the dawn….who cries at 3am….who is terrified by even the thought of violence?

I hold every wonderful naive dreaming heart that has ever crossed my path. I can only sing love songs. This is who I am.

Be a Lover. Stay alive for lovers. Stay alive for every dreaming kid that tells you a story. Be kind. Be patient. Be loving. Live in the World of Forgiveness.

We are so wonderful. We are so powerful. Hold on tight. Reach out.
I’ve been watering the flowers in Syd Barrett’s garden for so many years, I cant remember when my tears didn’t flow for flowers that may yet bloom, that he may never see….

I am only one little cell in this Mucker’s heart.

I know nothing else.

I know nothing else, my buds.

Water the flowers, lest they wilt and die from inattention.

We are all we have.

We are all we have.

There are so many Diamonds in the Rough out there.

Feed the Sparrows who sing to you. Be Kind to Dreamers, they are such fragile, gentle creatures.

If I ever were to find myself in Cambridge, England, perhaps I would scatter a few seeds of Hummingbird or Butterfly Flowers in Roger “Syd” Barrett’s garden….perhaps one day he may look out and see some sweetness as it gathered for a moment in his sight.
Maybe he would smile, and think, “Oh, look at that”

Seeds planted sometimes take a Generation to bloom, blossom and grow.

If I could be the butterfly or hummingbird in his sight, or a gentle breeze on his brow in his sleep, that gave him a moment’s Joy or Peace, that is all I would ask of our strange, inattentive, seemingly cold hearted gods. I would only wish to whisper in a Dreamer’s ear, there is still Beauty, there is still Kindness, there is still the Dream you sought, my sweet , sad gentle friend.

I will celebrate Mr.Barrett’s forgotten dreams for as long as I live.
“Let not the morning sun dry the tears of your fellow
that you can dry tonight with but the touch of your finger”

Every day and every night, I sail with my gentle dreamer
Every day and every night….
Sail on, my Bud.
Now I can pray TO you and not FOR you.